


A Hundred And One Kisses

by oratorio



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, F/M, Kissing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-26 03:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 47
Words: 4,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oratorio/pseuds/oratorio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hundred and one words for a hundred and one kisses.  Measuring Fenris and Marian Hawke's relationship in the smallest of moments, the sweetest of touches.  </p><p>Drabbles - a little challenge I have set myself, each chapter is 101 words exactly and I aim to write 101 of them eventually.  In no particular order at present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As ever all belongs to Bioware.

She stands and straightens her robes, damp sand sticking to the fabric like tiny prickly crumbs.  Her head throbs where the shield felled her, vision wavering as she blinks.

 

“Hawke,”  he says, standing before her, white hair shimmering in the sunlight and hurting her eyes.  She squints at him.

 

“I thought…”  His voice trails off and he looks at his feet, scuffing them in the sand.

 

Then his lips are on hers, fierce and intense.  Her heart stutters as he kisses her, tasting of salt and sun and spices.  She’d thought it wasn’t possible to feel more dizzy, but she does.


	2. Chapter 2

They never speak of it.

They never speak of the force with which he grabbed her arms, soft flesh pillowing under sharp iron, the almost supernatural topaz light shimmering over bronze skin.

They never speak of the first time their lips met, clumsy and rough in their eagerness to devour each other as if they needed kisses to breathe.

They never speak of the passion in their eyes, the fire and fervour and desperate need, the way he felt inside her, the wonder they saw reflected in the other’s face.

They never speak of it, but she relives it every night.


	3. Chapter 3

Everyone is gone. She sits in one of the biggest houses in Kirkwall and feels like the last grain of sand in an hourglass, her life disappearing in on itself.

She remembers the colours of her childhood; the golden wheat, the endless blue sky, the magenta of her mother’s favourite gown, the smiles, the love, the laughter.

Everyone is gone.

She remembers the paleness of her bled dry skin, grey parchment over bone. The clouds in her eyes. The tattered white dress. The death, the grief, the finality.

He kisses her forehead softly, soundlessly. No words will ever make this better.


	4. Chapter 4

_Festis bei umo canavarum._ You will be the death of me.  The words stab like daggers, his fury washes over her like a wave, the Agreggio Pavali seeps across the floor so dark as to be almost black.

 

She steps carefully over the emerald glass of the broken bottle and looks him in the eye.

 

 _Funny,_ she says, though it is no such thing.  _You are the only reason I have to go on living._

Even her own eyes widen with the truth of it, and with the sudden force of his lips against hers – anger and passion in equal measure.


	5. Chapter 5

Three years, and he looks at her as though it were only yesterday.  He doesn’t speak but she can see the words written on his face: sorrow, regret.  Hope.

 

If there is a future to be had.

 

If…

 

He leans into her, his lips brushing against her own, hesitant and nervous.  She stiffens and pulls away.

 

“No, Fenris,” she says, shaking her head sadly.  “I can’t just wipe away the past.  You hurt me too much.”

 

She sees the sadness in his eyes as he considers this, weighs up her pain against his own.  He sighs and nods, and walks away.


	6. Chapter 6

His lips were soft against hers, the tang of herbs tingling on her tongue. She tugged her fingers through his golden hair, freeing it from its binding.  She felt his stubble rasp against her cheek, her skin reddening.  Their bodies pressed together, warm and pliant.  His kisses were thorough and wonderful.

 

Her eyes opened and she sat bolt upright, sheets sliding from her shoulders.  She might have said his name; she couldn't remember.

 

The elf slept on beside her, undisturbed.

 

She was left to wonder if it had been a dream or if he really had followed her into the Fade.


	7. Chapter 7

_Champion_ ,  she hears in her dreams. She can still feel the hot slide of steel through her skin, her flesh, the sound of the sword scraping against bone.  The unforgettable feeling of being lifted, skewered like a suckling pig on a spit.

 

Anders had healed her as best he could,  but there is still a scar twisting across her abdomen, raised and crimson , an ugly puckered thing.   It is hideous under her fingers, lumpy and unfeeling.

 

She pulls the sheet over her body.   _Don't look._

 

Fenris tugs it away from her gently, pressing his lips to the scar and whispering _Beautiful._


	8. Chapter 8

“Your men are dead, and your trap has failed.”

 

She looks up into the blazing green eyes of the most glorious man she has ever seen in her life.  Her breath stops in her throat, as if she were the one lying on the ground at his feet, life blood draining in crimson rivulets across the concrete.

 

It is instantaneous, surprising, how she reacts.  He is shocked but melts into her touch, his lips opening as she slants her mouth across his, helpless to fight her desire.

 

He is still talking.  She shakes her head, embarrassed.  “I’m sorry, I was distracted.”


	9. Chapter 9

She knows that through this iron door is a woman who was part of his torturous past, part of the history he strives to forget.  She wants to kill the woman herself, but knows this must be something for him alone.

 

He looks at her, trepidation and fear in those beautiful olive eyes, hiding just behind the anger and bitterness he wears for the world.

 

She presses her fingertips against her lips and then against his, ignoring the pirate’s raised eyebrows.

 

Her gaze is intense.  “I will stand beside you until the end.”

 

He bows his head and raises his sword.


	10. Chapter 10

_The worst thing about being Champion is all these balls_ , she thinks, pulling at her too-tight corset.  She wonders how it is possible to breathe properly in such contraptions, let alone dance.

 

She smiles wryly at the thought of dancing, knows he hates it even more than she, his usual grace disappearing in the awkwardness of learned steps and the feeling of hundreds of noble-born eyes watching their every move.  The inevitable hum of gossip.  _There’s the Champion and her elf._

He moves behind her, one arm around her waist.  _You are beautiful, Hawke,_ he whispers as he kisses her neck.


	11. Chapter 11

They have nowhere to be today.  The sheer delight of a whole day spent only with him ripples through her as she stretches languidly on the bed.

 

He kisses her toes, her calves, the backs of her knees.  Her fingers tangle in his hair as his lips and tongue travel every inch of her skin, worshiping her.

 

Her skin burns with his kisses as if he is tracing brands of his own into her body; patterns to match his, gleaming in the hazy light of dawn.

 

She wriggles beneath him, humming in pleasure.  Nobody has ever made her feel this way.


	12. Chapter 12

She throws her cards to the table, cursing.  She doesn’t know why she keeps playing this stupid game.  Every week she loses coin, except this week when they are playing for something different.  Isabela’s idea.

 

“I win,” the pirate says smugly, white teeth gleaming in a wide grin.

 

She sighs.  “Go on, then.  What’s it to be?”

 

Isabela doesn’t hesitate.  “Kiss the broody elf.”

 

She strolls over to the bar where he stands, staring into a mug of ale.

 

“Fenris?”

 

His reply is muffled as she presses her lips to his briefly, then hurries away to the sound of Isabela’s laughter.


	13. Chapter 13

She wakes to the sound of crying.  He is thrashing beside her in the bed, tears on his cheeks, murmuring almost incoherently.  Among the unintelligible moans she hears words that she understands, words that send a finger of ice down her spine.

 

_No.  Please.  Hurts._

He wakes violently at her touch and reacts instantly, pinning her to the bed with a snarl before his eyes clear and he collapses against her chest.

 

“I’m sorry, Hawke, I…”

 

She strokes his hair and he tilts his head back, arms tightening around her.  Her mouth meets his, and their kiss is soft, gentle, healing.


	14. Chapter 14

Baking.  He is actually baking, in his kitchen.  She stands in the doorway and watches him run his fingers across his face, leaving a stripe of white flour across one tanned cheek.  His eyes are a study in concentration, pink tongue poking from one corner of his mouth as he stirs the mixture vigorously.

 

She moves silently across the room and presses herself against his back, running her tongue along his sensitive ear before kissing the tip, feeling him shiver at her touch.

 

“Hawke.  This was meant to be a surprise.”

 

She had almost forgotten it was her name day tomorrow.


	15. Chapter 15

Why did it have to be her?  For the rest of her life she knew she would remember the feel of the dagger in her hand as it parted his robes and slid through his flesh.  She would never forget his face as he died; the pain, the regret, the _relief_.

 

She raged at Fenris, savage with guilt and grief.  _You should have done it.  Why was everything always down to me?_

He held her and kissed away her tears, telling her _you cared for him, it was the only way to end it._

She knew it would never be ended.


	16. Chapter 16

They don’t even make it to the staircase in the Rose before Fenris is propositioned.  The woman is tipsy, heavily made up, batting her long eyelashes right in his face.

 

“How much for an evening with you, handsome?”  She places a hand on his arm and squeaks as his brands spark into life, his eyes flashing dangerously.

 

Hawke steps in front of the woman and removes her fingers from Fenris’ skin before claiming his mouth in a show of territorialism.

 

“This man shares himself with nobody except me,” she says then, a challenge in her eyes.

 

There was no more trouble.


	17. Chapter 17

Usually he went straight home, but not tonight.  Tonight he yawned and rolled over and was asleep beside her, the sheets of her bed clinging to his narrow hips and highlighting his lithe form. 

 

She listened to him breathing, soft and steady and for once peaceful.  He looked younger like this, his face relaxed; muscles which were so often tense had loosened.  He looked almost vulnerable, she thought.

 

Gently, she curled up behind him, one arm wrapping around his waist, warm and soft.  Her eyes fluttered closed, and she kissed him lightly on his shoulder as she slipped into the Fade.


	18. Chapter 18

_You have never…?_   She shivers.  How is it possible that this man has never felt a gentle touch?

 

She leans forward invitingly, hot breath against his lips.

 

“Hawke,” he says, and then he pushes her against the wall and the brickwork digs into her shoulders, but she doesn’t care, doesn’t feel it because his mouth is on hers and it is better than she ever imagined.

 

It’s clumsy and awkward, and he doesn’t know what to do with his tongue, but he is enthusiastic and eager and _beautiful_ and he is kissing her, and it is like being struck by lightning.


	19. Chapter 19

It had been a very difficult day.  Yet another mission to rid Kirkwall of raiders, which inevitably meant more blood spilled, more of the city’s grime sinking into their skin.

 

She fell into his arms the minute they walked through the door of her room, exhausted but needy.  She sighed softly as they embraced, his fingers stroking her cheek, muttering words of love between kisses.

 

A sudden noise made them both pause.

 

“Did you hear that?”

 

“It sounded like it came from the wardrobe.”

 

They looked at each other wordlessly before chasing the pirate out of the house, cursing and giggling.


	20. Chapter 20

They would never be welcome in the Chantry again,  interminably connected to events in Kirkwall.  It didn’t make their ceremony any less meaningful for its simple and unofficial nature.

 

It was just for them, in a field outside Lothering.  The remains of the village loomed desolate in the distance, only the freshness of this meadow giving hope for regeneration, for a new life.

 

This new life was theirs.  He gave her a peony, tucked into her hair.  She wove him a necklace from the long grasses which grew around their home.

 

Their fingers twined and lips touched over promises of _forever_.


	21. Chapter 21

She grins wickedly as he opens the book to the marked page and starts to read aloud.  He doesn’t get far before he stops and raises his head, smirking.

 

“You thought to embarrass me with this story, Hawke?”

 

The book was Isabela’s favourite, borrowed for the sole purpose of making Fenris squirm.  But, she notices, he isn’t blushing at all.  Instead, he continues to read, his voice becoming even huskier with the desire his words describe.

 

She estimates that he finishes another dozen sentences before she is in his lap, lips meeting his as they begin to re-enact the fictional scene.


	22. Chapter 22

_H is for Hawke, ham, houses._

 

Fenris scribes diligently with one of Hawke’s old quill pens.  He enjoys the way the letters curve, the meanings he attaches to each one, but he needs something better for H; something to connect the letter to Hawke other than _ham_ or _houses_.

 

She smiles and sits beside him, her hip bumping his.  Her arm snakes around his waist as she lays her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes.

 

He looks down at her, contented as a mabari puppy, and kisses the tip of her nose.

 

Happiness.  That begins with H, he thinks.


	23. Chapter 23

_Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you._

It was the first time the words in his heart had been spoken so boldly.  Part of him quailed in fear, scolded himself for such honesty.

 

He wondered if he had hurt her too much, if the wounds opened three years ago were beyond all healing.  He knew she loved him – the way she looked at him betrayed her heart. 

 

He had finally told her – as close as he could get – that he loved her, too.

 

There was a silence before she pressed her lips against his, salty with tears.


	24. Chapter 24

Freedom tastes bitter, like ashes in his mouth.  He constantly relives his sister’s words.  _You said you did not ask for this.  But that’s not true._

 

He had always hated the brands; the pain they had brought him, the memories they had cost him.  He had not realised it was possible to resent them even more, but he does.

 

He tries desperately to cover himself but she won’t let him, the sheet pulled from the bed and pooling on the floor.  He tenses as her lips trace the silvered lines, ashamed and disgusted with himself.  She continues to love him, regardless.


	25. Chapter 25

_I am alone._ It is how he had felt, in that moment.  The faint hope of family disappearing through the door of the filthy inn, leaving him with the most painful words he had ever heard.

 

She interrupted his thoughts.  _“I’m here, Fenris.”_

It was as if she had clamped her hand around his heart.  He pressed his fingers to her cheek, wishing that he had never left her, that he could love her again.  He felt the brief caress of her lips against his wrist, and knew that she was all he had ever needed.

 

She was his family now.


	26. Chapter 26

“You’re drunk, Hawke,” he says, smiling despite himself at the sight of her staggering from the bar, yet another ale clasped tightly in her hand, her entire body concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other and not spilling a drop.

 

“Am not!”  she slurs defensively, before tripping on her own feet and falling into his lap, beer cascading down his shins and pooling unpleasantly between his toes.

 

She giggles and pulls his head towards hers, kissing him with hot, stale breath.  “Love you!”

 

He is not sure whether he hopes she remembers this in the morning, or not.


	27. Chapter 27

She marvelled at the softness of his lips.  Much else about him was so hard – the planes of his chest, the lean sinews of his limbs, his flat stomach, the set of his jaw.  A warrior on the battlefield and a challenging conversationalist, he was tough, uncompromising, argumentative.

 

And yet she remembered the longing in his eyes when he looked at her, the almost innocent expression of wonder that played across his face when he moved inside her.  The velvet of his lips when they kissed, the gentleness of the words that he spoke in those private moments.

 

She loved him.


	28. Chapter 28

Starlight shimmers in his hair, turning it to liquid silver in the dusk of the autumnal night.

 

He lifts her chin with one sharp gauntleted finger, gazing into her eyes with the heat of a whole lifetime of desire condensed to one moment, standing here together under the waxing moon.

 

She knows he’s going to kiss her, shivers as he dips his mouth to hers and…

 

Maker, but he has the sloppiest tongue, and breath like the Bone Pit on a hot day.

 

She sits up with a shriek, tangled in bedsheets.

 

“Rory, get off!” she says, pushing at the Mabari.


	29. Chapter 29

“Fenris, for the last time, it’s not like that here.  You wouldn’t-”

 

Her angry protestations are cut short as an old cushion hits her full across the face, leaving her spluttering furiously through a mouthful of dust.

 

She stares at him, wide eyed.  “You just threw a cushion at me!”

 

“I see stating the obvious is among your many skills, Hawke,” he says, lip curling in a wry grin.

 

Her astonishment quickly subsides as she picks up the nearest pillow.  The argument is forgotten in a rain of soft furnishings, both eventually collapsing in a pile of feathers, laughing and kissing.


	30. Chapter 30

They’re browsing in the marketplace when she hears the women talking, the unmistakeable Orlesian accent of the Comtesse and one of her lackeys.

 

“Look at zat, Champion of Kirkwall and she ees consorting weeth zees elf… and where everybody can see.  Has she no shame?”

 

She glances over at Fenris, who has frozen in place, his spine tense and fists  clenching.

 

“Fenris, my love, I think this potion is an aphrodisiac,” she says, loudly.  “How about we try it, not that we need any assistance!”

 

The women look on shocked as she draws him into a passionate and very public kiss.


	31. Chapter 31

All eyes were on them as they took to the floor.  She looked regal in her forest green gown, and in his suit he was the most handsome man she knew.  Their fingers twined as the band struck a tune and the steps of the dance began.

 

She whirled on light feet as she did in battle, moving gracefully around her partner instead of the enemy.

 

At the end of the dance he bowed low before her, kissing her fingers.

 

“I cannot wait to have you out of that dress later,” he murmured huskily, so that only she could hear him.


	32. Chapter 32

_I should not have let them take me.  I let you down._

He is groggy from the magic which imprisoned him, eyes unfocused and wobbly on his feet.  She wraps her arms around him tightly, unable to stop tears from springing in her eyes.  For a moment, she had thought him dead, lost to her forever.  The thought of it creates a stone in her stomach, cold and heavy.

 

“You _didn’t_ ,” she says, firmly.  “I _know_ you.  You could never let me down.”

 

She tilts her head and loses herself in the feel of his lips, the taste of his tongue. 


	33. Chapter 33

She brushed his hair from his forehead, white as snow, as it had always been for as long as she’d known him.  

 

He moaned deliriously, stretched out to take her hand.  She clutched his fingers, burning with lyrium fever, feeling helpless and distraught.  Twenty years with this man, the best years of her life, but nowhere near enough.

 

 _“Quos amor verus tenuit tenebit_ ,” he whispered brokenly, “I will love you forever.”

 

 _Those whom true love has held, it will go on holding*._   As his eyes closed and he slipped away from her, she felt as if she would never stop falling.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - Latin quote by Seneca.


	34. Chapter 34

Meredith was gone, desiccated by the power of the red lyrium that had turned her first mad, then to stone.  The city was in chaos; a man who had been a friend lay dead and the streets ran scarlet with the blood of mages.

 

She was exhausted, grieving the healer and the horrific act which stood as his epitaph.  Her mana was drained and she felt bruised and dry.

 

“I don’t feel like a Champion,” she said bitterly, resting her head on Fenris’ shoulder.

 

“To these people you are.  To me, you are.”  Fenris stroked her hair and kissed her brow.

 


	35. Chapter 35

The Crow assassin sheathed his blades and smiled at her.

 

“Would you care to get to know each other better, Champion?”

 

Hawke felt weak.  She’d never really met many elves before, most of them being shut away in the alienages.  Now she had two of them fighting for her attentions.  Quite literally, too, considering the look on Fenris’ face.

 

Her lover stepped forward, dark brows knitted over eyes that sparked with anger.  For a moment, she thought he was going to attack the assassin, but instead he pulled her into his arms and claimed her with a brutal and fiery kiss.


	36. Chapter 36

“Would you return to Lothering, if you had a chance?”  Fenris says one morning, lying in bed beside her.

 

She thinks for a moment.  “I don’t know.  There’s nothing much left of it since the Blight.  I’ve made a life in Kirkwall now.”

 

She smiles at him.  “What about you, Fenris?  You are a free man.  Do you think you will ever go home?”

 

He puffs out a breath and pulls her tight against his chest, dropping a kiss on the top of her head, her hair tickling his nose.

 

“I will go wherever you are, Hawke.  You are my home.”


	37. Chapter 37

She touches her fingertips to her mouth, remembering the heat of last night's kisses, as she stares at the empty doorway.

 

Everything had been perfect. She had loved him in the secret corners of her heart for so long, spent countless hours imagining his touch.  She'd sunk into blissful sleep beside him, sated and content, dreaming only of the future.  She would be so proud to walk beside him now, to declare to the world that she was his.

 

But it turned out his dreams had not been of the future at all.

 

He had left, and her heart was shattered.


	38. Chapter 38

Isabela raises an eyebrow.  “So tell me, what’s he like?” she says, grinning wickedly.

 

Hawke tries to overlook the obvious innuendo in the pirate’s tone.  “Hmm.  Elvhen.  Broody.  Deadly with a sword.  Drinks a lot of wine.”

 

“You _know_ what I mean, Hawke!  How does he kiss?  I bet he’s all fierce and angry and hot blooded, am I right? Does he leave you feeling like your lips are bruised and as if you never want to stop kissing him?”

 

Hawke meets Isabela’s gaze levelly.  “That and more.  Every kiss is like the world is ending.”

 

Isabela squirms.  “Ooh.  Show me?”


	39. Chapter 39

Fenris slept peacefully, morning light playing over his skin and highlighting the sweeping lines of his markings, the paleness of his hair, the… Oh, no.  She’d forgotten all about _that._

She thought it was around the fourth bottle of Agreggio that they had stopped arguing and started tearing at each other’s clothes, raw and hot and frantic with need.  She remembered clawing at his back, pressing her mouth to the soft skin of his neck and, well.

 

Smirking, she wondered what she could use to cover up the purple bruising before the others saw it.  Fenris would never live it down.


	40. Chapter 40

It felt as if they had spent hours trudging around the Wounded Coast looking for bandits.  By the time she made it home, her ankles were swollen and her feet ached so badly they almost _stung_.

 

Fenris drew her a bath, hot and foamy and perfumed with vanilla.  She sank into the bubbles with a sigh, feeling tension dissipate as he soaped her back and massaged her shoulders.

 

She grabbed his wrist and kissed the palm of his hand as he moved to wash her hair.

 

“Thank you, Fenris” she said, dreamily.  She felt like the luckiest woman in all Thedas.

 


	41. Chapter 41

Hawke was exhausted.  She lay back against her pillows, clammy with sweat and feeling much the same as she had after her duel with the Arishok.  Battered and sore, and like she just wanted to sleep for a thousand years.

 

Fenris leaned over her, kissing her forehead, olive eyes shining with an emotion she thought she had never seen.  A tear trickled down his cheek and she wiped it away with one finger, smiling.

 

“I’ve never been so proud of you, Marian,” he murmured, gazing down at the bundle she held in her arms, just as the babe began to wail.

 


	42. Chapter 42

The fire was roaring and she settled into the tattered armchair, a glass of wine in her hand.  It had been a long day.

 

Fenris had lit candles around the room and they cast shadows on the grey stone walls, highlighting his hair with a warm glow.  He sat on the floor beside her, resting his head against the chair as he lifted her foot into his lap.

 

He kissed her toes as he began to run his fingers over her feet, rubbing the tense muscles and stroking the sensitive soft skin of her soles.  She sighed and closed her eyes.


	43. Chapter 43

“I am a fly in the ointment!” she says, trying hard not to laugh. 

 

Fenris pulls a face at her voice.  “A bit more evil, I think.”

 

She coughs, clears her throat.  “I ammm a whissssper in the darrrkness!” she says, waving her arms and cackling wickedly.

 

Fenris snorts.  “ Don’t forget ‘It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly’”

 

She collapses back on to the pillows, giggling wildly.  He covers her with his body, pressing his lips against her ear.

 

“I fear the inevitable plummet into the abyss!” he whispers, eyes glazed with sudden desire. 


	44. Chapter 44

She comes home to a scene from an Anderfels farmyard.  Her mother stands on the stairs, panicked eyes following Bodahn as he chases three goats around the hall with Rory barking madly at his feet.

 

One goat has done what frightened goats will do, right on the rug by the fireplace.  Maker, it smells.  And there is wheat scattered across the flagstones, being crushed underfoot.

 

Fenris stands beside her, looking concerned.  She immediately understands and laughs, planting a kiss on his nose.

 

“Oh, my love, they aren’t meant to come inside!” she smiles, delighted at his clumsy attempt to woo her.


	45. Chapter 45

She digs around in her pack for the orichalcum. There are many rumours about this mineral when mixed with wine; she is curious whether they are true.

Grinning, she hands the elf the goblet, deep crimson liquid swirling in its depths. He takes a deep draught, and she watches the wine slide down his throat as he swallows.

The glass is empty and only minutes later he is on her, hot and intense and desperate. He is always passionate, but the power of his kisses and the urgency of his touch as he tears at her tunic takes her breath away.


	46. Chapter 46

They stood on the deck of Isabela’s ship gazing out at the rolling ocean, dark as the midnight sky.  It was beautiful and wild, and Hawke felt like she could see the other side of the world.  A place, perhaps, where life was fair and worth living again.

Eyes closed, they lost themselves in each other, seaspray on their faces and salt on their lips.  This is what freedom tasted like.

The magic did not last.  When the pirate came out to check on them, she found Hawke busily mopping the deck while Fenris leaned over the side making horrible noises.


	47. Chapter 47

“What _is_ this, Hawke?”

Hawke looked up into her husband’s confused face, giving him her very best innocent expression.

“Isn’t that obvious?  Happy Satinalia, Fenris.”

“It’s a cat.”

“I know.”

“It has claws.”

“I know.  I thought perhaps we could call it Anders.”

She had really purchased the gift for herself, but she hadn’t been able to resist seeing his face when he unwrapped the small basket.  It hadn’t been a disappointment.

“Hawke, I swear I…”

She cut him off with a kiss, as the beribboned kitten sat back on its haunches and began to consider climbing up his leather-clad leg.


End file.
